


Silent Sinning

by tulip_tallulah



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Things I needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulip_tallulah/pseuds/tulip_tallulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max returns to the citadel to rejoin Imperator Furiosa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Sinning

**Author's Note:**

> While I certainly appreciate that the film did not a feature the typical "there is no time for this, but we're doing it anyway kiss/sex scene," I think we can all admit that these two need to bone. Shameless smut, I'm afraid. Any errors are my own, feel free to point them out so I can fix them. I hope you find it enjoyable.

He returns as quietly as he left; his arrival, like his departure, drawing little or no attention as he makes his way through the citadel.  His arms and hands limp at his sides, tried from fighting and clawing and scraping by.  His footfalls soft, but grudgingly issued from his exhausted body that aches in places he can't even name.  His throat dry and tight until he finds a freshwater well within the fortress and drinks deeply until satisfied. Once sated, the water splashing to the floor runs rust colored from blood and dirt as he rinses his hands, his face, his neck, his scruffy beard, his head, wetting his clothing in the process but caring little.  The rags he’s dressed in – the same he left in – need replacing anyway, wore away by many months on the desolate road, baking and fading in the sun and torn in several places by weapons wielded by his enemies.

But he is alive.  He is relatively well.  And he has returned to see what she’s built.

It is the middle of the night, but the walls of the stronghold echo with laughter and movement and life.  Even in the well-made oasis of this naturally barren place the sun burns with a harshness that could rival death’s own kiss.  The dark night sky and its cooler air bring respite to all.  He sees faces that should be familiar and some he might have known in another life, but he ignores them all, moving with a single-minded determination.  In the kitchen, he eats heartily in the company of the women who control the food rations.  They give him more than his fair share, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of kindness.

After satiating his thirst, his hunger, his desire to be clean, his mind is now free to consider other pursuits, other persistent urges.

Without even seeking guidance, he finds his way toward her chambers.  They are, as he predicted, not the nicest, but not the shabbiest, not the highest, but not the lowest, not the cleanest, but not the filthiest, not in the line of danger, but not entirely safe either.  He smiles to himself, expecting nothing less.

He doesn’t knock, he merely presumes that she will look twice at his face before attempting to strike him down.  In this, he is correct, and he feels her knife press firmly, but with control, against his throat before he can take three steps into the room.  He hadn’t even heard her move toward him.

“You look terrible,” is Imperator Furiosa’s only greeting.  Max’s reply, a low grunt and a nod.  She does not remove her knife immediately, so he places a hand gently over hers, forcing her to lower the fully animate arm.  Silently, with a single touch, reminding her of their shared past, of his aid, of his desire to do her no harm.

She considers him intently.  There is no candle light in the space, but the moon is full, the windows large and open and uncovered creating a soft blue glow that illumines the room’s inhabitants.  He has a new scar across his cheek and perhaps others she cannot see.  His beard is longer than when he left and his eyes less bright somehow.  He considers her in turn.  She is softer in a way that only serves to increase her ferocity.  She appears well-fed and healthy, strong and able, not pampered and weak.  Her half-arm is no longer chafed from her prosthesis and he wonders if a salve is to thank for the improvement.

They do not speak; there is no need for words.  There never was.  There was always…simply understanding between them, if nothing else.  Even if she were to strike up a conversation his answers would likely be one-word mumbles or more unintelligible grunts.  And even if words were necessary, there was nothing to say, really.  He had gone, but he had now returned.  She had stayed and prospered.  Both things are obvious to both.

With nothing else to say or do, he did what he came there to do; he kisses her.  Shyly and sweetly, as if he is unsure if she will return the knife to his neck, but also fairly confident she will not.  She drops the knife to the floor, just missing her bare foot and brings her one natural hand to his neck, drawing him closer as she tentatively extends her tongue.  He returns the gesture in kind, licking out to meet her lips and tongue and teeth, both hands on her hips to press her against him.  His eyes are open and so are hers, both unwilling to recede, both wanting to be fully present in the moment.

She is dressed in a thin, white sleeping shift, the closest she will come to wearing a dress and Max bunches the fabric in his hands before pulling the item off in one fell swoop, leaving her stark naked.  He hums in admiration and she graces him with a rare and beautiful smile before returning her mouth to his and laying her soft, exposed flesh flush against his hard body still covered by rough, filthy clothing.

She moans into his mouth and he returns with a grunt of his own, kneading the newly developed curve of her hip with a calloused hand, desperate for more contact.  She has had enough and needs to end this ridiculous display.  She pulls back, reaching for his worn jacket and yanking it roughly off his arms.  He reaches up to disconnect the weapons vest he sports across his body and sheds it quickly before peeling off his dingy grey shirt.

Furiosa brings her mouth to his exposed, sweaty chest while working on his belt.  With a hand on each of her shoulders, he guides her backwards, further into the room, kicking off his boots in the process.  They are at her bed now, a simple, unadorned but large frame that holds a mattress softer than anything Max has slept in his years, maybe decades.  Hopping up, Furiosa scoots back as he drops his loosened trousers and comes crawling onto the bed to plank his now nude and erect body over hers.

She brings a hand up to cup his cheek; a quiet act that says so much: _I’m glad you’re alive.  I waited for your return.  I missed you._

Understanding, Max speaks his reply, “Mmm, me too, Imperator.”

The use of her title instead of her name reignites her lust and she pulls him down for a fierce kiss that burns through them both.  She can feel his hardness pressed against her wet center as she spreads her legs to accommodate him, letting out a short gasp at the contact.  

Max uses the opportunity to move his mouth to her neck, sucking and kissing her tender skin while grinding his hips down against hers.  She lets out a wanton plea for _more, more, more_.  So he acquiesces, dropping his head lower to run his tongue over her breasts and belly before taking a long, slow taste of her dripping arousal.

“Yes, Max, so good.”  He _hmms_ agreement and continues to work her over with his mouth, parting her outer and inner labias with every stroke, adding to the wetness and drinking her in.  He forms a swirling, erratic pattern on her clit, loving the breathy exhalations she lets out and the way her hips rise to meet his mouth and rub against his face.  He sets a more even pace, slow, then swift, light, then hard, until she comes, spasming against the mattress and murmuring his name.

He takes one more good taste before coming up to kiss her other lips, those now swollen and red from their earlier kisses.  Their lips still pressed together, he adjusts to position himself to enter her, but she will not allow it.

Instead, she flips him onto his back, quite easily, and straddles his hips.  Reaching back with her complete arm, she strokes his firm cock a few times and meets his intense glare with one of her own.  Lifting up, she sinks down, impaling herself on his shaft, her mouth gaping in pleasure at the sensation.  Having thought about this moment for several months, she takes a moment to enjoy it before she begins to ride him hard, driving his hips into the bed with every stroke.

Max runs his hands up her thighs, squeezing them gently before reaching further to fondle her breasts, which she leans forward to present to him.  When he pinches and pulls one nipple her head falls back and she moans even louder.  He moves to the other, and then back, and then back again, until she is close to coming again already.

Sensing this, Max shifts them and Furious is once again on her back underneath him, who, without missing a beat, is driving into her with force.  She hooks her ankles around his back to take him even deeper.

“Bite my nipples,” she commands.  And he does, happily rolling each taut and tender peak between his front teeth before closing his plump lips around them and sucking until they are purple and bruised.

With a hand on the bed to steady himself and another on her breast, he returns his mouth to her neck, licking up her throat in long strokes, capturing beads of sweat as he goes.  She clenches around him and he is about to come, but she gives him pause.

“Don’t stop, not yet, don’t stop, Max.”  So, he doesn’t, but instead quickens his pace to drive her over the edge.  He growls his frustration in her ear, which is all she needs to come with her pussy wrapped tightly around his cock, which in turn releases his seed inside her as she screams out his name, again and again as she comes.

With one hand, she hugs him into her as the last of his ejacualte is milked by her clenching walls.  When she releases him, he rolls to his back and listens to her breath return.  

A sweet, contented silence falls upon the room and both of them enjoy it while it last.  This world, their world, is just so loud, so demanding, so tiring.  But the two of them, together, can be quiet, unassuming, understanding, at peace.  In a land of bitterness and pain, they have saccharinity and easy pleasure.  Furiosa allows herself, for just a second, to believe that this feeling can last.  Until she opens her eyes, sees the desert hills outside her window, and faces the reality of their life.  At least he has returned to her.

He speaks first, “Everyone seems happy.”

She glows with pride, but knows it has little to do with her solo efforts.  “The mothers, the wives, they organized the other women and make sure everything is kept in order.  The people have responded well.  We’ve been fair with them.”  Max grunts his approval and she is glad his monosyllabic demeanor has returned; it is comforting, it feels like home.  She continues,  “Tomorrow, one of the women will find you a job to occupy you before we head out again.”

He rolls his head to look at her as he strokes her cheek with the back of his hand.  His slight smile with narrow eyes and his words are surprisingly gentle.  “Still my Imperator.”

He knows; he gets it.  She cannot stay here forever locked behind the walls of the citadel.  Her place is in the war rig, searching for supplies and defending their people.  She will return to the dust, to the roads and lead them from there, not from a stone tower dressed in pure white clothing.

She rises to find her pitcher of water and rinse herself off.  “Stay here tonight.  We will settle you in a room tomorrow.”

“It’s ok.”  She turns to find him already on his stomach and nearly asleep, muttering under his breath.  “I don’t need my own room.”

It is exactly what she wanted to hear.  That, and the tiny snores he lets out as he finally allows his body to rest.

 

 


End file.
